high school.

WARNING: This post is sad and talks about serious issues I have gone through. Please don't read it if mental health issues are triggering to you.

I've always thought that the peak of my life would be when I was six years old, twirling around in a princess dress without a care in the world. I would have never guessed that the happiest and most fulfilled I would be (at least so far in my life) would be sitting here in my room, crying. Not the happiest picture, I know, but it's the feeling of pride and accomplishment that I have for myself that causes the tears to run, not pain or sadness.

I guess it would make sense to start from the beginning.

The summer before freshman year my mom convinced me to do the cross country summer workouts, so I could meet some people and have friends going into high school. Little did I know that this decision would pave the way to creating the friend group that has gotten me through the last four years of my life. Elliot. Ethan. Ayden. That summer we had our first conversations, laughs, and memories, and once freshman year started our little group had expanded to include Abby and Abigail. You three were the first real guy friends I ever had, and you taught me so many lessons that I will never take for granted. Thank you for helping me understand the importance of getting out of my comfort zone and showing me that guys have emotions too.

Our "inside" group of six made me laugh the hardest I had in my entire life. I felt on top of the world when I was with y'all, and I like to think that this feeling was reciprocated. Over freshman and sophomore year, our group of six grew and grew to include new faces and friends who each brought a new dynamic to our group. And more importantly, each new face helped calm the fear of loneliness and sadness that was growing inside of me. These rising emotions were combated with the laughter I shared with you all and with the level of love and respect Ayden gave me. I still don't think that I deserved it.

The end of sophomore year was like the calm before the storm. I focused all my energy on running but started to compare myself more and more to the girls around me. And I found that as my insecurities grew, the amount of food I was consuming drastically decreased. I started eating less than 500 calories a day, weighing myself constantly, and physically pushing my body beyond my limits. When my parents stepped in a made me eat more, I relied on laxatives to keep my weight to its below-normal state. The spring and summer were a constant battle between what my body needed and what my mind wanted, but by the beginning of August, I was finally eating a semi-normal amount and was free of laxatives for two weeks. While I was ashamed of my body, I felt proud of myself for getting out of an unhealthy state. I thought that junior year would be a positive one, where I could think healthier thoughts and be proud of who I was.

I thought wrong.

It started with the races. I put so much pressure on myself to get good times and please my coaches and teammates that I forgot how to breathe. Literally. At every race starting that cross country season, I had a panic attack and found myself curling up in a ball in the middle of the course with everything around me spinning, no idea what was happening, and someone telling me to stop hyperventilating. Then, I got so scared that I started to have panic attacks before the races. Then during practice. Then leading up to practice. Then in the bathrooms at school, and finally in my bed in the middle of the night. My anxiety followed me everywhere I went, but I still managed to convince myself that I was being stupid and overreacting. I thought I was weak, so I hid my fears behind a facade of fake smiles and laughs. I fooled my friends and family into thinking nothing was wrong, but every night, my nerves grew into sadness and I didn't know how to cope. Things got better when I started to open up, but unfortunately, this led to me getting on anxiety medicine.

This medicine did was it was supposed to do-- it helped with my anxiety. But what I didn't realize was that the reason I was having so many panic attacks was that I was extremely sad and my body didn't know how to deal with this sadness. My dark thoughts would scare me into hyperventilating, but with the anxiety medicine, I was able to sit in these dark places for longer. And longer. And longer.

I don't want to get into the details of how dark my thoughts got and the actions that they caused me to take, but by November I was no longer going to school. By December I was admitted into UNC-Chapel Hill's Psychiatric Hosptial for inpatient care for teenagers with suicidal thoughts and actions. Yes. Suicidal. That word is scary to read, it's scary to say, and it's even scarier to be labeled as. But it's what I was, and I'm not going to hide or run away from it anymore.

I was in the inpatient care for two weeks, and those two weeks turned my life around in ways that I can't even begin to explain. I started to be able to picture my future, have hope that things would get better, and tell myself that I was worth something. Being discharged from that hospital and being told that my doctors and nurses thought that I was stable enough to live in my own home felt like I could walk on water. I remember being so proud of myself for finally understanding that it was okay to not be okay. I saw the fight I had and that I had not been overreacting. I went through heavy, dark, emotional shit. And I realized that I was strong and not alone.

From there, it was an uphill battle. Everyone, including my doctors, told me that I would have to quit IB and do summer school. I said no. Throughout my time at the hospital, the two things I held onto was my love for learning and my want to give back to others. I knew I could do the work it took to make up my assignments and finish my junior year on time. Yes, I still had panic attacks and was depressed. But I saw hope for my future, and this hope came in the form of education. I saw myself in ten years working in the mental health field, helping kids dealing with the same issues I went through, and I saw this happening by me pushing through all my missed work, finishing IB, and going to college.

My parents had sent my teachers an email informing them of my situation. I'll never know what that email said, but I do know how understanding my teachers were when I came back. I had missed almost two months' worth of school work, and yet each teacher wanted to work with me to make a plan to help get me back on track. They wanted me to succeed, and most importantly, they believed in me when I found it hardest to believe in myself. The rest of my junior year was by no means easy, but I wanted to put in the work.

I ended junior year with straight As. I know that grades don't mean a lot, and that they aren't everything, but that report card showed me two things. It showed me that my work had paid off, and it showed me that if I could do this while having serious depression and anxiety, there was nothing that I couldn't do.

All of my friends and family helped me get through this time, but there were four friends in particular who stood by my side and helped me up when my whole world was falling down. Ayden-- you gave me the love and patience I didn't deserve, even when I caused you pain. Hope-- you taught me that it was okay to open up and be vulnerable, and that going through hardships was what made me stronger. Ryan-- you showed me how important and deep the love of friendship can be. And Abby. You gave me hope for a happier future and understood my pain. Thank you. Thank you all.

I went into senior year not knowing what it would bring, but knowing that I could get through it. And so far, I have. It has been beautiful and chaotic at the same time, but that is life I guess. I've made new friendships, grown back old ones, and had some amazing times. I now know how amazing it is to smile and it be real, not just something I put on to make other people feel like I'm okay.

If you are ever going through a hard time, please know it will get better. Everything eventually does if you let it. My high school story isn't a pretty one, but it has made me proud of who I am. Yes, I still get sad and lonely sometimes. But I also am happy and proud to be alive.